


Making a Stand

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drunk Sex, Family Drama, Fights, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Up, Outdoor Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Nevada tries to help Jeremy - and finally realizes how much he stands to lose
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29
Collections: Nevactacus





	Making a Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clowchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowchan/gifts).



Nevada drew up short just inside the doorway. His feet itched to turn and flee, but it was too late; the kids had already spotted him.

Jeremy and Jemima sat side by side on the sofa, and Jemima had her arm around her brother’s shoulders as she glared at Nevada, silently daring him to make a rude comment about the tears cutting dirty tracks down Jeremy’s cheeks. 

The boy had clearly been in some sort of fight—his hair was sticking up in haphazard spikes, his face was covered in dust and grime, and he had the beginning of a black eye. Caractacus was going to be _pissed_ , and Nevada almost smiled at the thought. Few things were hotter than a worked-up, angry, over-protective Caractacus.

Nevada smoothed the threatening smile from his lips, though, because Jemima took after her father in quite a few ways and Nevada didn’t want to risk offending her on her brother’s behalf. Plus, Jeremy looked absolutely miserable, and Nevada didn’t have to know the details of the fight to know that Jeremy hadn’t fared well. The boy was soft, softer than his sister, and that made him a target.

“Everything okay?” Nevada asked casually, strolling into the room after his brief hesitation. 

“Fine,” Jeremy mumbled, looking at the floor and sniffling.

“No, it isn’t,” Jemima said. “Tell him, Jer.”

“I don’t want to,” Jeremy answered, barely audible. He seemed to be shrinking in on himself, getting smaller in the loop of her comforting arm, and Nevada felt an unexpected stab of guilt. He really hadn’t made much effort to befriend the boy. It was easier with Jemima. She gave back as much as she got.

And she didn’t remind Nevada of Robbie. 

“You have to, you might be hurt,” Jemima said in a voice that offered no room for argument.

“I want Daddy.”

Jemima’s words rang in Nevada’s ears, and he moved forward as he asked, “What do you mean, hurt? More than the eye?” His gaze sharpened on the way Jeremy hugged himself, a bracing hand over his stomach. “Are you bleeding? Does it hurt to breathe?”

“He got kicked in the ribs,” Jemima said. “And when I get my hands on that—”

“No, Mimi,” Jeremy pleaded, “they’ll hurt you, too.”

“They?” Nevada asked, unaware of the cold steel in his voice until he saw Jeremy’s wince at the sound. “How many people did this to you?” He tried to soften his voice, but he could feel a rage beginning to build as he looked at the boy’s dirty, bruised, tear-streaked face.

“Four,” Jemima answered when her brother didn’t. “They wait for him after school, and I had detention—”

“That’s your father’s problem,” Nevada cut in, but the idea of Jemima planning on confronting the four kids who’d already beaten up Jeremy didn’t sit well with him. She was tough, he wouldn’t deny that, but she wasn’t nearly as tough as she thought. Both kids needed to learn how to defend themselves. If anything happened to them— 

He shook his head. If anything happened to them, Caractacus would never survive. Nevada didn’t allow the thought to run any deeper.

“Can you take a full breath?” Nevada asked Jeremy.

“He threw up,” Jemima offered. 

Nevada realized that his hands were curled into tight fists and he forced his fingers to relax. “Let me see the damage,” he ordered, gesturing with a jut of his chin.

Jeremy peered up at him with fear and distrust, and something close to shame. The first two hurt more than Nevada wanted to admit; he’d done a poor job of befriending the boy, but he’d done his best to be non-threatening and he never raised his voice at the children. He would certainly never harm them, not knowing Caractacus would have him buried in the backyard by nightfall. 

But more than the fear, it was Jeremy’s embarrassment that really got to Nevada. There was no shame in being bested in a four-to-one fight, but Jeremy looked like he expected ridicule or condemnation. 

Nevada looked at his watch, wishing Caractacus were home. He wasn’t due back for another hour.

“Let him look, he knows about fight stuff,” Jemima told her brother. Her tone and expression were kind but also brooked no argument, and she helped Jeremy to his feet. The boy carefully pulled up his shirt, revealing several scrapes—Nevada’s blood boiled at the thought of him on the pavement—and a large darkening bruise beneath his ribs.

Nevada swore softly in Spanish and reached out a hand. “Gonna touch your ribs for a second, you tell me if there’s any sharp pain, _sí_?” Jeremy nodded and seemed to be bracing himself, but Nevada hesitated. “Okay?” he asked, and something—not a lot, but something was better than nothing—loosened in Jeremy’s expression before he nodded again.

Nevada kept his touch as gentle as possible, but he had to make sure there were no broken ribs. He prodded with his fingertips, and Jeremy held perfectly still—not even breathing—until Nevada had satisfied himself that nothing was broken.

“When you threw up, there was no blood or nothing?” He nodded when both kids shook their heads. “Good, that’s good. We should really get some ice on that eye, and a cold cloth on your—”

“Will you teach me how to fight?” Jeremy blurted as though the words had been piled up behind his lips, trying to escape.

“We leave school together from now on,” Jemima said, but her words didn’t make Jeremy relax. If anything he seemed closer to panic, and Nevada understood. They wanted to protect each other, and he had nothing but respect for their bond. But Jemima was hot-headed, and more likely to plow headfirst into danger. 

Jeremy was more like his father, calmer and better at picking his battles. Nevada could respect that, too. Jeremy needed to be able to defend himself without his sister fighting for him, though, and Nevada knew that Jeremy understood this. 

“ _Dama_ , go in your room so me and your brother can talk.”

Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead in surprise as she stared at him. Jeremy cast a nervous look between the two of them. “Why?” she finally asked, which was better than Nevada expected. He’d been prepared for a flat refusal. 

“Because you’re not his mother,” Nevada said before he considered the weight of the words. For a moment she looked as though he’d slapped her, and Nevada grimaced. “You’re not his parent,” he amended, although it was too late.

“Neither are you,” she said.

“It’s okay, Mimi,” Jeremy said quietly. “I wanna talk to him.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, looking from Nevada to Jeremy and back again. She seemed hurt and confused, but she huffed as she pushed to her feet. “Fine, then,” she said, stalking off toward her room.

She closed the door without slamming it, which Nevada thought showed remarkable restraint. 

Nevada looked at Jeremy, fighting down his sudden discomfort at being alone with the boy for the first time. They’d barely spoken to each other directly, ever. “Now she’s gone, how do you really feel?”

“I’m okay,” Jeremy said, glancing at Nevada and away. 

He was going to have to get better at hiding his emotions if he didn’t want to be a target for every bully in his life. “Don’t let ‘em see you scared.”

“But I am scared,” Jeremy said, barely above a whisper. “I’m not brave like you and Mimi.”

“Being scared is normal, it means you're smart. But don’t let them see it, don’t give them the satisfaction. They don’t see your fear, don’t let them see you cry or know you’re hurt.”

“Daddy says it’s okay to cry.”

Nevada opened his mouth and closed it again, swallowing hard. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he had no business giving advice to any kid, let alone Caractacus’s. 

“Is he wrong?” Jeremy asked, peering up at Nevada. “Does he only say it so I don’t feel bad?”

“You should talk to him, I’m no good with...” Nevada gestured vaguely with a hand.

“You can tell me. I already know I’m not tough—”

“Bullshit,” Nevada said, sharper than he intended, and he saw Jeremy’s small wince. “With everything you’ve been through? Leaving your home, losing—suffering like the three of you have, I know you’re tough, I know you’re brave.” 

Nevada hesitated, licking his lip nervously. He wanted to be honest, but it was difficult to pull the words out of himself. “The thing is, I’m not a real good person to ask about some things. No one ever told me the stuff your father tells you, that it’s okay to cry, to wear weird clothes...to be yourself. If I cried when I was a kid—” He cut himself off and drew a breath, holding Jeremy’s watchful stare. “You have a very good father, kid, and I never had one of those, so if you’re smart—and I know you are—you’ll listen when he talks and appreciate how much he loves you.”

“But Daddy isn’t like you.”

“He’s better,” Nevada said. “And sometimes it’s smarter and braver to not fight. To walk away. But those boys don’t—”

“One’s a girl.”

“Those kids don’t got any right to lay a finger on you. And I don’t want you to get hurt again, so—”

“You don’t?”

“—I’m gonna give you something.”

Jeremy’s eyes landed on the pocketknife that had appeared in Nevada’s hand. Nevada opened the knife, turning it so the blade shone in the light. “You’re giving it to me?” Jeremy asked, his gaze flicking up to Nevada’s.

Nevada opened his mouth to say it was only a loan, but changed his mind. “Sure,” he said instead. He supposed he didn’t need it anymore, and something in Jeremy’s face had lit up. Nevada held the knife out with the blade pointing toward the boy. “But first, some safety. This ain’t a toy knife. It might look small but it could cut a man open.”

“Has it?” Jeremy asked. For a few seconds he looked like he was going to clap a hand over his mouth for asking, and Nevada almost laughed.

“It’s a warning,” he said instead of answering. “Get me? You’re not gonna use it on anyone. I wouldn’t give it to you if I thought you would, but you’re a good, smart kid. Now look, touch your finger to this edge, but very carefully. There you go,” Nevada smiled, unaccountably moved that the boy trusted him enough to actually lay a finger on the blade. “Feel how thin that is? A little pressure is all it would take to slice through your skin, and you gotta remember that. That’s a big responsibility, knowing you could really fuck someone up.” He cleared his throat. “Hurt someone, I mean,” he amended, smiling again when Jeremy giggled.

“Did you have a knife when you were my age, Mr. Ramirez?”

“Younger’n you. Carried a gun not long after. Don’t model your life after me, and don’t call me Mr. Ramirez.”

“What should I call you?” Jeremy asked hesitantly.

“Nevada, Vada, Asshole, whatever you want, kid,” Nevada answered, flashing a grin when Jeremy laughed again. “Now look, let’s say someone pulls a knife on _you_ , yeah? Put your hand right here over the blade, so your finger and thumb are on the hilt. We’ll work on speed because you’ll have to be fast, but—”

“What’s going on here?” Caractacus asked, the sound of his voice startling both Nevada and Jeremy.

Nevada hadn’t even heard the inventor come into the house, and he started to turn with a surprised curse. Everything happened quickly, too quickly: Jeremy closed his hand around the blade in a reflexive tightening of his fist even as both he and Nevada jumped and turned, and the boy let out a yelp of pain that made Nevada instinctively pull the knife away.

He saw blood filling Jeremy’s palm, and then Caractacus was quickly whisking the boy to the kitchen sink and shoving his hand under the tap. Jeremy was crying, but quietly, saying “ _Ow, ow, ow_ ” as his father examined the wound.

Nevada stood frozen, filled with guilt and fear that he’d seriously injured the kid. He was still holding the knife, the blade now damningly streaked with blood. He opened his mouth to say he was sorry.

“Nevada, could you get the first aid kit under the bathroom sink, please,” Caractacus said, sounding remarkably calm. Nevada couldn’t understand that calmness while the man’s son was bleeding all over the sink. “It’s not that bad, not deep enough for stitches,” Caractacus was saying, but the words barely soothed Nevada’s frayed nerves. 

Nevada forced himself to turn toward the bathroom, stowing the knife as he went. He faltered for a moment at the sight of Jemima rushing out of her room, glaring at him as though he’d intentionally flayed her brother before breezing past him to see if she could help.

* * *

“I know you’re pissed, why don’t you just say so,” Nevada said, hating how antsy and agitated Caractacus’s pacing was making him. 

“I am angry, yes,” Caractacus said without looking at him. He was clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides as he walked back and forth across the bedroom, and it occurred to Nevada that Caractacus didn’t know what to do with rage because he so seldom felt it. This realization gave Nevada a cold burst of real fear. Not a fear of Caractacus, but of him telling Nevada to leave and never return.

“I was trying to help,” Nevada heard himself admit in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“That’s the only reason I haven’t—” Caractacus broke off with a sigh and continued pacing. 

“Yell at me, then, go on,” Nevada said. “Or hit me, I don’t care, just—”

“Shut up,” Caractacus cut in, surprising Nevada into silence. “Violence, that’s your solution?”

“I’m just saying I know—”

Caractacus whirled toward him, crossing to the bed in a few long strides, and leaned down until his face was inches from Nevada’s. “If I make you angry, as angry as I am right now, are you going to hit me?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes locked with Nevada’s. 

Nevada swallowed, fighting the urge to draw back a little. “No.”

“No?” Caractacus poked a finger into Nevada’s chest, and Nevada clenched his jaw. “You sure about that?”

“Stop it.”

“Or what?” Caractacus poked him again, a little harder.

Nevada reached up and grabbed his wrist. The two men stared at each other for several seconds. Caractacus was breathing heavily and his cheeks were flushed with anger. “Better you hit me than tell me to go,” Nevada finally admitted. His fingers were wrapped tightly around Caractacus’s wrist, but they loosened as he spoke. 

Caractacus blinked. “Go?”

“I hurt the boy,” Nevada said, careful to keep the emotion out of his voice. There was nothing he could do about the regret the other man was surely seeing in his eyes. 

Caractacus stared at him for long moments before speaking. “I’m not upset about him getting cut. Well, I mean, I am upset about it but that’s not why I’m angry. I’m angry because you were giving him the knife in the first place. My children will not learn to confront problems with violence, and they will certainly not carry weapons to school. I need to know that you understand this.” 

“He asked me to teach him to fight. But with something to scare the bigger kids, he wouldn’t…” Nevada trailed off and glanced away, his throat working as he tried to voice the truth. “I wanted to keep him from getting hurt again.”

“I appreciate that. I do.” Caractacus sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m going to start dinner,” he announced suddenly, turning on his heel and leaving Nevada alone in the bedroom.

* * *

Caractacus was in the shower, and the twins were each in their own room. Nevada hadn’t joined them at the dinner table, too cowardly to face the awkward silence and admit his regret. He’d taken his meal alone in the bedroom, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Caractacus hadn’t insisted he come out to the table.

Now it was almost bedtime, and Nevada had no idea what the twins were doing to pass the time until their father was ready to tuck them in. They could be doing homework, or playing with toys, or surfing inappropriate websites. Their routines were none of Nevada’s business or concern. He didn’t want them meddling in his life, and he wasn’t about to meddle into theirs.

Except, he needed to make sure Jeremy understood that the incident with the knife was a mistake. So, while Caractacus sang quietly in the shower, Nevada knocked on the boy’s bedroom door.

Jeremy opened it almost immediately, as though he’d been hovering nearby, but his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Nevada and he took a quick step backward. Nevada’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t blame the kid for being afraid of him, but Nevada wondered how stupid it must be to think—to even hope—he could start over fresh and leave his past behind. 

“How’s the hand?” he asked without greeting, gesturing with a dip of his head toward the white bandage.

“Oh,” Jeremy said, bracing his arm over his stomach and cupping his other hand over the bandaged fingers. His eye had darkened considerably, and Nevada was sure his abdomen must be sore. The kid looked miserable, but he wasn’t complaining. “It’s okay.” He paused, glancing around. “Don’t worry, I told Daddy it was my fault.”

Nevada frowned. “It was an accident. And I shouldna tried to give you a knife, I know how your father feels about weapons.”

“Was he very angry?” Jeremy asked, fidgeting and looking around. His nervousness bothered Nevada, but Nevada didn’t know what to say or do to make the situation better. 

“I can handle your father,” he said, immediately realizing he’d chosen his words poorly when Jeremy looked at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “By which I mean, he can yell at me if he wants. I got thick skin.” He was relieved to see the hint of a smile touch the kid’s lips. “Speaking of which, I know he patched you up and all, but I can smuggle you an icepack if you need. For your ribs.”

“That’s okay.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Thank you.”

“The eye’s lookin pretty badass.” Nevada also paused before adding, “Don’t tell your father I said so.”

Jeremy’s mouth curved into a real smile and Nevada smiled in return. “I guess I can’t have the knife anymore, since I wasn’t careful.”

“That’s not why—You didn’t do anything wrong. But I wouldn’t think you’d want it after almost getting your fingers cut off.”

“I didn’t want it before,” Jeremy said. “I only thought it was nice that you were giving it to me. Like maybe we could be friends like you and Mimi.”

Nevada had no idea how to respond to that. “Sure,” he said after a moment. “Sure, we are.” He tried to think of something, anything that he could give the kid, but his brain floundered through a dozen possessions that were wholly unsuitable for a child. Nevada had nothing to offer.

Jeremy smiled at Nevada’s words, though, and some of his tension seemed to ease. “Yeah? You mean it?”

Nevada reached out to touch Jeremy’s cheek, brushing a careful thumb beneath his black eye. “Course,” he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Anyone’d be lucky to get you in their corner. You sure you don’t need ice or anything? Whiskey?”

Jeremy laughed. “No, thanks. Goodnight, Mr—Nevada.”

Nevada grinned. “Thanks for not going with Asshole.” 

* * *

“You still mad?” Nevada asked, watching Caractacus crawl into bed beside him. Nevada was lying on his back, an arm bent under his head on the pillow, as Caractacus slipped under the covers and fluffed his own pillow. 

“I’m not angry.”

It was true that he didn’t _sound_ or _look_ angry, only subdued. Quiet and introspective might be worse than angry. Nevada wanted to know what he was thinking. “Wanna fool around, then?” he asked instead.

Caractacus glanced at him and offered a small smile. “I’m tired,” he said. He leaned over and planted a quick, chaste kiss at the corner of Nevada’s lips before rolling away.

“It was a joke,” Nevada muttered, his stomach clenching again as Caractacus settled onto his side facing away from him. 

“I know. Goodnight, Nevada,” Caractacus said, reaching up to turn off the bedside lamp.

Nevada waited, lying in the dark, listening to the other man’s steady breathing, cursing himself for becoming so dependent upon Caractacus’s presence after sleeping alone—and just _fine_ —for most of his life. 

After a couple of minutes he rolled cautiously onto his side toward Caractacus, shifting closer. He didn’t touch him; when Caractacus wanted to be touched, he certainly didn’t shy away from contact. So Nevada inched into the other man’s warmth, close enough so he could smell the comforting scent of Caractacus’s shampoo, and he closed his eyes. It was more than he deserved, and it was enough. 

“Love you,” Caractacus murmured, sounding mostly asleep, and his body relaxed backward into the curve of Nevada’s.

Nevada sighed into Caractacus’s hair, finally daring to let his fingers touch the other man’s hip. “ _Te amo_ ,” he breathed after a minute, when Caractacus had already begun to snore softly. 

* * *

“Good lord, you look like a raccoon,” Caractacus said, holding Jeremy’s chin to turn his face one way and then the other. “Well. Half of one, at any rate,” he added, earning a smile from his son. “Do you feel alright? If you’d rather stay home for a day—”

“I’m okay,” Jeremy said.

Nevada suspected Jeremy was more worried about the idea of Jemima going to school alone and trying to confront the kids who’d hurt her brother. Nevada was concerned about that, himself. 

“Alright, but if you have any more trouble and I need to speak to the principal, or those children’s parents—”

“They’ll think I’m a snitch!” Jeremy lamented.

Caractacus shot a look toward Nevada, and Nevada raised his hands. “That wasn’t me. The kid’s just smart. And right.”

“Please stay out of this.”

“But you’ll make it worse, Daddy, please don’t—”

“Okay, Rem, okay,” Caractacus said, running his hand over Jeremy’s hair. “Calm down, sweetheart, we’ll play it by ear, yeah? Just be safe and call my cell if you need me.”

Jeremy nodded and glanced at Nevada. He seemed to be gathering his courage, but for what Nevada had no idea until the boy spoke: “Maybe they’ll leave me alone ‘cause he says the black eye makes me look badass.” His cheeks had flushed before he’d even finished speaking, but there was a hint of defiance in the tilt of his chin when he looked up at his father.

Nevada laughed, and Caractacus shot him a dirty look. Nevada raised his brows and shrugged. “That one was me,” he agreed, and he saw Jeremy’s shoulders relax in relief.

“Let’s refrain from learning too many new phrases from Nevada,” Caractacus told his son, sounding amused despite himself. “But, I suppose he’s not wrong,” he added with a quick wink, and Jeremy’s face split into a grin. “Let’s just make sure it’s the first and last.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Jeremy agreed as Caractacus bent to kiss his head. 

“Jemima Potts, I swear if you don’t hurry up…” Caractacus called toward the bathroom, and the girl appeared a few moments later.

“It’s not nice to swear,” she said primly, and Nevada threw his head back to laugh. 

As far as kids went, Caractacus’s weren’t so bad. 

* * *

“Mimi, no,” Jeremy said, tugging at his sister’s arm. “Come on, let’s—”

“You should listen to your weird bro unless you wanna get hurt, too.”

“Go ahead and try it,” Jemima answered, her slender frame vibrating with rage as she stared down the four bigger kids with her hands clenched into fists.

“Guess who got the balls in the family,” the ringleader—a boy named Kirk—laughed, giving Jeremy a pointed look. 

“If you touch my brother, you’ll never see _your_ balls again,” Jemima shot back, and Jeremy let out a quiet whine beside her. His hand was circled tightly around her arm.

“You always take care of his fights for him?” one of the other boys asked, rolling his eyes.

“Explains a lot,” Kirk said. He looked at Jemima and lost his smile, his expression going hard in an instant. “Come on, then. What’re you gonna do, little girl? You think I won’t hurt you just because—” He broke off as Jemima pulled the knife from her pocket and flipped it open.

“Mimi,” Jeremy breathed.

“You think I won’t hurt _you_?” she asked Kirk, taking a step closer despite her brother’s hand on her arm. “Nobody touches my family.”

Kirk glanced from her face to the blade and back again, swallowing, but he started forward with his jaw set. “You’re bluffing,” he said. “I’m gonna make your brother eat that knife after I—”

“What’s happening, here?” 

Nevada’s tone and stroll were nonchalant as he stepped up onto the curb beside the group of kids, but his eyes were dark and watchful. He saw the alarm in Jeremy’s face, and the guilt warring with the anger and fear in Jemima’s, but Kirk’s expression held nothing but defiance as he glared at Nevada.

“Mind your business,” the boy said. He seemed unconcerned by the dangerous smile Nevada flashed, but his friends glanced uneasily at each other. 

“What’re you doing here?” Jeremy asked.

“Came to see if you brats wanted to get ice cream,” Nevada answered, holding his hand out, palm up, toward Jemima. She glared at him. “ _Dama_ ,” he said sharply, and he saw her expression tighten before she finally slapped the knife into his palm. 

“Are you their dad or something?” Kirk asked, showing a momentary flicker of worry before his expression closed up again. 

Nevada laughed. “Do I look like anyone’s dad?” he asked, flipping the blade over his knuckles so that it glinted in the afternoon sun. He gave Kirk a hard look. “And you’re lucky, _carajito,_ because their father would take you apart.”

“Ohh, scary,” Kirk laughed, rolling his eyes again. “Why don’t you go back wherever you came from, weirdo.”

Nevada closed the knife and slipped it into his pocket. “Tell me something,” Nevada said, taking a step forward. “Your folks got good insurance? Dental?”

Kirk’s friends moved backward, easily reading the danger that Kirk still seemed to be missing. “You can’t touch me,” he said with misplaced confidence. His was the arrogance of a spoiled, upper middle class white boy who’d never faced a real consequence in his life, and Nevada’s knuckles itched to wipe the cocky smirk from his young face.

“No, don’t,” Jeremy said, surging forward in front of Nevada. He looked at Kirk, and there was a waver in his voice when he pleaded: “Just go away and leave us alone, don’t make him mad.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Kirk answered, reaching out to shove Jeremy back. “And you—”

Nevada reached out to grab Kirk’s wrist, and maybe snap it off—certainly teach him a lesson about laying hands on Caractacus’s kids—but Jeremy was far quicker than Nevada expected. The boy slapped Nevada’s arm aside and gave Kirk a return shove that sent him staggering back a step in surprise.

“Leave him alone!” Jeremy yelled at Kirk before whirling toward Nevada with his hands held up. His eyes, one bruised, had the wild look of a trapped animal, but he held Nevada’s stare. “Don’t hurt him, let’s just go home, it’s fine, please.”

“Home? Who even is this guy?” Kirk asked.

“Think of me as their bodyguard,” Nevada said.

“If you hurt him, we’ll have to go away,” Jeremy told Nevada, and Nevada was alarmed to see tears shimmering in the boy’s eyes. “We like it here, please.”

Nevada felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, and most of his anger evaporated as he looked at Jeremy’s face. “I would never let you get in trouble for something I did, you don’t have to worry. You and your father and sister won’t ever have to leave.”

“You live with them?” 

“God you’re stupid,” Jemima told Kirk, and Nevada would’ve laughed if he weren’t so focused on Jeremy. 

Jeremy whirled away from him to face Kirk, though, and said, “He’s our dad’s boyfriend, and if he hurts you—”

“Boyfriend?”

“—and gets in trouble—”

“Your dad a girl?”

“—he’ll have to leave and then we’ll have to leave too and now we finally have a home and I won’t let you ruin it!”

“Jeremy, calm down,” Jemima said, clearly alarmed by her brother’s breathing. 

“You leave us alone!”

“Come on, Kirk,” one of the other boys said, pulling at Kirk’s arm. “Let it go, come on.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Nevada asked Jemima as she unzipped the side pocket of Jeremy’s backpack and started rummaging inside. Nevada had never heard anyone breathing the way Jeremy was, wheezing and whistling, and the boy’s face was turning an alarming color. 

“Asthma,” Jemima said, finally finding the inhaler and shoving it into her brother’s hand. “Come on, take it easy, forget about them.”

Kirk and his group of friends were backing away, and now even Kirk looked rightfully nervous. 

“If any of you touch either of these kids again, I find out where every one of you lives and I pay you a little visit,” Nevada warned. It was an empty threat, but they didn’t know that, and he knew he’d made his point to at least three of them. He turned his back on them and looked at Jeremy, who was taking a shaky puff from his inhaler as Jemima forced him down onto the grass at the edge of the sidewalk. She sat down beside him and looked up at Nevada.

“He’ll be alright,” she said, and Nevada realized she must be seeing the unmasked worry in his face. “It’s been forever since he had an attack. Not even when they beat him up.”

Nevada felt a rush of guilt, and he sank into a crouch before the twins. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I was trying to help.”

“We know that,” Jemima said, glaring at him as though he were an idiot. “But you can’t go around threatening kids in a place like this.”

“How’m I supposed to protect you?” Nevada asked before he was even aware that the question had formed on his tongue. 

“Don’t leave,” Jeremy said.

Nevada swallowed, hesitated, and admitted: “It would probably be better for you all if I did. I don’t belong—”

“Don’t be a coward,” Jemima cut in, and Nevada’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “It isn’t like we’re asking you to read bedtime stories, you know. You don’t even have to pretend to like us. But Daddy loves you.”

Nevada cleared his throat. “I like you fine,” he grumbled. Jeremy was looking and sounding better, and that was a relief. Nevada didn’t want to think about that wheezy sound, or the panic in Jeremy’s eyes as he struggled to get air. “At least you ain’t like that little fucker,” he added gesturing in the direction Kirk and his gang had disappeared. 

“I could’ve handled him, if you hadn’t shown up.”

Nevada narrowed his eyes at Jemima. “I’m sure you could’ve, but the blade was a bad idea, _mija_. You promise me you won’t pull a stunt like that again.”

“Only if you promise not to do something stupid and get run out of town.”

Nevada cocked an eyebrow. “Then you promise to watch your smart mouth.”

“I will not,” she sniffed, and Nevada’s face split into a grin. 

“Good for you, _Dama_ ,” he murmured. He looked at Jeremy. “What about you, _Leoncito_?” he asked. “You should be proud of how you stood up to that kid. Maybe we find you some self-defense classes, yeah? Would you like that?”

“Daddy doesn’t like fighting.”

“Your father wants you to be safe. He’ll say yes. Anyway I’d teach you myself but defense isn’t really my area,” Nevada added with a self-deprecating grimace. “You feeling better? We should prob’ly get outta here before someone thinks I’m trying to kidnap you.”

“Sure,” Jeremy agreed, but he hesitated, looking down at the inhaler in his hands as he fidgeted. “What do you want me to promise?” he asked quietly.

“I only want two things from you,” Nevada said, waiting until Jeremy looked up at him before continuing: “Be safe. And don’t be scared of me. But I know I gotta earn that one. Come on, let’s go get ice cream. Once your _papi_ finds out I came here, I’ll prob’ly be under house arrest for a month.”

Nevada straightened and held out his hands, pulling the kids to their feet when they’d laid their palms in his. He let go of them and turned to start down the sidewalk. The kids fell into step on either side of him. Jeremy stuffed his inhaler into his front pocket and then reached out, tentatively touching his fingers to Nevada’s.

Nevada, who hadn’t held a child’s hand since his nephews were considerably younger than the twins, almost pulled away on instinct. He stopped himself, taking a moment to consider how much courage it had taken Jeremy to make that small gesture, and instead wrapped his hand around the boy’s. Jemima reached out and grabbed his other hand, offering him a smug smile when he glanced at her.

“We won’t let Daddy be angry with you,” she said.

“Can he really punish you?” Jeremy asked.

“If I let him,” Nevada answered without thinking. He looked down at Jeremy and sighed. “Yes,” he said, and Jeremy grinned.

* * *

“You bring me here to dump me?” Nevada asked as he dropped into a seat across the small table from Caractacus.

Caractacus frowned at him. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

“Ask questions?”

Caractacus gave him a dark look but didn’t answer as a young waiter appeared beside the table with menus.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”

Caractacus cleared his frown and smiled brightly at the waiter. “Not just yet, thank you.”

“Alright, well let me know,” the man answered with a friendly smile of his own, and then he was gone. Caractacus looked across the table, saw Nevada glaring after the waiter, and sighed. The sound drew Nevada’s gaze back to him and they stared at each other for several seconds before Caractacus leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.

“I thought we could come out for a quiet dinner, spend some time alone together after our disagreement.”

“Disagreement?”

“What would you call it?”

“You getting bent outta shape about me trying to help.”

Caractacus leaned back in his seat and adjusted his lapels. “Now you’re simply trying to goad me,” he said calmly.

Nevada scratched the back of his head and squinted around at the restaurant for a few moments. “I got something to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“I know you asked me to stay out of it but I went to meet the kids after school.”

“I know.”

Nevada frowned at him. “You do?”

“They told me.”

“The shits,” Nevada said. “I told them not—”

“They wanted to make certain I didn’t blame you. Especially Jemima, because she stole your knife. She’s grounded, by the way. Two weeks.”

Nevada considered, shifting in his seat as Caractacus regarded him across the table. Finally, he said, “They still shouldn’t’ve told you, I said I would.”

Caractacus sighed again. “I know you want me to be angry.”

“I don’t. You’re a pain in the ass when you’re pissy.”

“And I know you’ve been struggling since Marcus’s death. With everything. I don’t need you to talk to me—”

“So you say.”

“What does that mean?”

“Forget it.”

“No, tell me what—”

“Thought you said you don’t need me to talk.”

Caractacus drew a steadying breath. “You know, you’re exhausting sometimes.”

Nevada offered a mean smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, if you can’t keep up…”

The waiter approached the table, eyeing them with a touch of caution as he seemed to sense the mood. “Have you had a chance to look at your—”

“Actually, I’m terribly sorry,” Caractacus said, rising to his feet and pulling out his wallet. “We won’t be staying after all.” He pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “For the inconvenience.”

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Please, I insist.”

The waiter took the money with a glance toward Nevada. “Thank you.”

“Where the fuck you going?” Nevada asked Caractacus. “I’m hungry.”

“The ice cream should tide you over,” Caractacus said, turning away from the table. 

Nevada was up and around the table in a few strides. “ _Chiflado._ ”

Caractacus didn’t answer. He glanced down at Nevada’s hand on his arm and Nevada let go. 

“What’m I supposed to do?”

“Come the fuck with me,” Caractacus snapped without looking back. 

* * *

“You lost your mind?” Nevada asked, peering out at the bar. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d climbed into the back of the cab.

“Come or don’t,” Caractacus answered, already pushing his door open. “I’m going to get pissed.”

“You’re already—” Nevada started angrily as he followed Caractacus out of the taxi.

“Mashed, bladdered, arseholed.”

Nevada grabbed his arm and Caractacus turned on the sidewalk to face him. “Caractacus, this ain’t—”

“Buggered. Bevvied.”

“—a place for you.” Nevada glanced at the dingy-looking bar with a grimace. “They’d eat you up someplace like this.”

“Drunk. I’m going to get very drunk, Nevada.”

“Why—”

“Because I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you.”

Nevada blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Caractacus looked at him, and Nevada was taken aback by the emotion he saw in the other man’s eyes. “Come get drunk with me.”

Nevada swallowed. “Going in here is asking for trouble.”

“Then I’ll go alone,” Caractacus said, turning away. He didn’t look back as he walked inside, and he scanned the small bar—ignoring the looks and sniggers drawn by his appearance—before making a beeline for a small, unoccupied table in the corner. As soon as he dropped into one of the seats, Nevada slipped into the one across from him. 

Caractacus looked at Nevada, who was clearly uncomfortable sitting with his back to the room, and Nevada glared back at him.

“Let’s play a game,” Caractacus said. “I’ll order a slew of shots and we’ll ask each other questions. If I don’t want to answer, you drink. And vice versa.”

“Why.”

“Because I want to get shitfaced,” Caractacus answered, smiling at the young waitress who approached. “Hello! Could we get…” He looked at Nevada. “What do you think, ten? Ten shots, please?”

She eyed his outfit with little interest. “Shots of what?”

“Oh. Whatever will intoxicate me the quickest.”

She looked at Nevada, apparently trying to judge whether or not this was supposed to be a joke. “Tequila,” he said.

“Sure thing,” she answered after a moment. As soon as she was gone, Nevada looked at Caractacus.

“You won’t get past two. Wasting my money.”

“Wasting _my_ money,” Caractacus countered. “I’m buying.” He watched Nevada clench his jaw, and added, “Got a problem with that?”

“Nope,” Nevada said, popping the _p_. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You really wanna go toe to toe with me?”

Caractacus copied Nevada’s pose and said, “I’m an open book, remember?” He straightened when the waitress appeared with their tray of shots, fumbling for his wallet. “Thank you so much,” he said, flashing her a smile as he laid money on the tray she’d just emptied. “Keep the change.”

“You gotta flirt with everyone?” Nevada asked when they were alone again.

“Being nice isn’t flirting,” Caractacus said as he started sliding the shots of tequila into a single line across the middle of the table. “Maybe you think I want to fuck everyone because you do.”

“Me? I’m the one flirting?”

“No, flirting isn’t your style,” Caractacus said, spearing him with a look. He gestured toward the glasses. “You want to go first, or shall I?”

“ _Por favor_ ,” Nevada said with a tight smile and a sweep of his hand.

“Alright, then.” Caractacus picked up a glass, a taunt that said he didn’t expect Nevada to answer. “I’ll start easy. How old were you when you lost your virginity?” 

“You mean consensually?” Nevada returned, clearly speaking before thinking, and his whole expression closed as soon as the words had left his mouth. He reached out and grabbed a shot of tequila. “Let’s go with fifteen,” he said before quickly swallowing the liquor and thunking the empty glass onto the table.

“Nevada—” Caractacus started, leaning forward, but Nevada cut him off.

“My turn. You ever cheat on your wife?”

Caractacus blinked several times. “What?”

“You said you fucked men before me but you were with her since you were kids, right? So?”

“No, I…” Caractacus swallowed hard against the sudden pain that was still somehow able to blindside him when he was reminded of how much he’d lost. “I would never,” he said, barely audible. “I, um.” He raised the shot to his lips, his hand trembling slightly, and downed the burning liquor with a grimace. “In secondary school,” he said, his voice rough, “a boy named Grover and I exchanged oral in his parents’ cellar. I never had sex with anyone else until after Mimsie died, and then I couldn’t even think of looking at another woman, so…” He trailed off and looked at the table, drawing a deep breath.

“Bet you ruined poor Grover for anyone else.”

Caractacus glanced across the table and managed a small smile. He set his empty glass down and toyed with it for a few seconds before sliding it aside. “Have you ever cheated in a relationship?” 

“Yes.” Nevada swallowed a shot and slammed the glass down. 

“Would you cheat on me?”

Nevada shook his head, not in answer but objection to the question. “My turn,” he said. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt your kids?”

Caractacus hesitated longer than he meant before saying, “No.”

Nevada glared at him, but Caractacus could see that the anger was a mask. “I don’t believe you.”

“I worry about my children every minute of every day,” Caractacus said. “I’m always afraid something might happen to them. I’m afraid _I_ might do something to hurt them.”

“Copout,” Nevada said, downing a shot to show he didn’t think Caractacus had answered honestly. 

“If you think I would leave you alone with them if I—” Caractacus stopped himself and considered. Looking across the table, he said, “Do you even like me?”

“The fuck kind of question...You think I’d put up with this bullshit—”

“I think _you_ think you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Fuck you.”

Caractacus nodded. “Fine. It was a yes or no question.” He swallowed his second shot. He was definitely feeling the buzz already, but it wasn’t nearly enough to dull the pain. 

Nevada glanced toward a group of men who’d been watching them since their arrival. “We should get outta here.”

“You want to go home and fuck me so you can go back to pretending I’m not upset.”

“What, I don’t care about your feelings?”

Caractacus raised a shot to his lips. “My feelings are inconvenient,” he said, downing the liquor.

“That wasn’t a—”

“Name something you like about me.” 

“I like your mouth. When you’re not talking,” Nevada answered, hating the way Caractacus’s expression tightened in response. Nevada had a shot in his hand, but before he could drink Caractacus reached out and snatched it from his fingers, throwing his head back to swallow the tequila. “Hey!”

“Liar,” Caractacus accused. The alcohol had his voice hoarse, his cheeks pink, and his eyes bright.

“Take it easy,” Nevada warned. 

“I told you I was getting pissed,” Caractacus returned, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he set down the empty glass. 

“You’ll puke and pass out and I’ll have to carry you home.”

“Do you think you’ll hurt my kids?”

Nevada thought it was his turn to ask a question, but he wasn’t certain. “I already did,” he said. Caractacus was reaching for the next glass and Nevada grabbed his wrist. “Yes. Okay? But I don’t want to. I want—” He broke off, his gaze darting toward the men approaching the table. “Listen, we need to—”

“You don’t own me, y’know,” Caractacus said, his words blurring a bit around the edges. 

“Huh?”

“You think ‘cause I let you tell me what to do in bed—”

“Shut up,” Nevada hissed, leaning over the table and glancing toward the group of guys. 

Caractacus jerked his wrist out of Nevada’s grasp. “I’m not your...your _plaything_ ,” he said. 

Nevada’s temper flared. “Fine,” he answered, throwing up his hands. If Caractacus didn’t want his help, _fine_.

The group of four men crowded up beside the table, and Caractacus, his reflexes clearly slowed a bit by the tequila, turned his head to blink at them in surprise.

“What’re you boys supposed to be? Half the Village People?”

Caractacus looked up at the man who’d spoken. “That makes no sense,” he said. “There were six Village People, and none of them was dressed as a clown.” Across the table, Nevada snorted in amusement despite himself.

The man standing beside them seemed far less amused. “That’s real funny. Point is, you should move along now.”

“Actually, we’re not done with our drinks yet,” Caractacus said. 

Nevada watched the man exchange a look with his friends. “You’re not listening,” the guy said. “Your kind ain’t welcome here.”

“What kind is that?” Caractacus asked. He sounded drunk and naive, but when Nevada glanced across the table he saw a steely, dangerous glint in Caractacus’s eyes. 

“Actually,” the man said, cutting a look toward Nevada, “ _his_ kind ain’t welcome here.”

Nevada didn’t want those words to hurt, didn’t want to be reminded that Caractacus would be better off without him.

“You know nothing about—” Caractacus started.

“No need to be rude. I don’t mind sharing,” Nevada told the group of men. The moment the words left his tongue, he wanted to call them back. The guilt and self-loathing crashed down on him, suffocating him.

Caractacus looked like Nevada had slapped him. He swallowed and leaned back in his chair, pain shining in his eyes, and nodded once.

 _Congratulations,_ Nevada thought bitterly. _You wanted to hurt him enough to drive him away._

“I think we should call it a night,” Caractacus said quietly. 

Nevada was out of his chair and at Caractacus’s side before he knew he was going to move, and he sank into a crouch without so much as a glance at the group of men. His pride meant nothing compared to Caractacus—who, even at his angriest or most hurt, never lashed out to deliberately hurt Nevada. He deserved so much better.

“I’m sorry, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada said, putting a hand on Caractacus’s leg. “You know it’s not true. I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

“Damn,” one of the men laughed, “she got your balls in a jar at home?”

Nevada closed his eyes, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he clenched his jaw. “Go away,” he said through his teeth.

“Is that how you feel?” Caractacus asked.

Nevada opened his eyes. “What?” 

“Like I…” Caractacus frowned. “Like I have you neutered…”

“Pretty sure you know where to find my balls.”

“That’s it, you fellas need to leave.”

“How about you go the fuck away and let us drink in peace?” Caractacus said, turning a glare toward the group of men. 

“Excuse me?” the man asked, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “The fuck did you say?”

“He’s an asshole but he’s mine and he’s going through a lot—”

“No one asked your fuckin life story.”

“—and we weren’t doing anything to you.”

“I can smell the cheap cologne and oil from across—” the man started.

Caractacus lurched to his feet and shoved the guy with both hands, sending him stumbling back a step into his friends.

“Shit,” Nevada said, throwing Caractacus’s chair out of the way as he lunged forward to get between Caractacus and the other man. He wasn’t quick enough, and Caractacus caught a punch to the eye that sent him reeling backward. He somehow managed to stay on his feet, but he let out a small yelp that made Nevada’s blood pound in his temples. He wanted to murder them. All of them. He put a fist against the man’s chest. “Don’t you fucking touch him again,” he said, desperately fighting the urge to destroy everyone and everything.

“He started it,” the guy said, knocking Nevada’s hand aside with an angry swipe of his arm.

“But I’m finishing it,” Nevada warned. “One way or the other.”

Before the man could answer, Caractacus surged forward, saying, “ _You_ started it,” as he threw a punch that caught the guy in the side of the head. 

Nevada let loose a string of curses in Spanish as he threw out an arm in an attempt to get between Caractacus and the other men; he’d thought he had to worry about their tempers, and his own, not Caractacus Potts starting a goddamned bar fight. 

One of the men punched at Caractacus, catching Nevada’s shoulder instead and spinning him to the side. Caractacus took a knee to his crotch and dropped to the floor, and all of Nevada’s best intentions vanished. He surged forward and a moment later felt the satisfying, sickening crunch of a man’s nose beneath his fist.

The guy shrieked in pain as he went down, blood covering half his face, but Nevada had already turned and thrown a blow toward the ringleader, the man who’d started this whole thing by feeling the need to come over and interrupt a conversation that had nothing to do with him. Nevada caught him squarely in the solar plexus and followed the wheezing man to the floor, hitting him the face once, twice, three times, grateful for the familiar rush of adrenaline, and pure animal rage that drove his instincts— 

“Nevada!” Caractacus called, his voice making it through all the sounds of shouting and chaos that had erupted around them, and Nevada froze with his fist drawn back. He blinked, bringing the man’s bloodied face into focus, his fist trembling with the urge to hit him again and again until there was nothing left.

 _If you hurt him, we’ll have to go away_. 

Hands were pulling at Nevada’s arms and clothes, and he let himself be hauled to his feet and shoved backward a few steps. The blood was roaring in his ears, and the dim lights of the bar were too bright as they blurred around him. 

Someone was talking about cops and Nevada felt a stab of fear that almost made him run. 

“We all saw who started this,” the bartender was saying, but he wasn’t talking to Nevada. 

Caractacus suddenly appeared in front of Nevada, squeezing his shoulders to get his attention. “Vada.” His face was red, especially dark beneath his eye. “Are you hurt?” He grabbed Nevada’s wrist and lifted his hand to look at his bloody knuckles.

Nevada shook his head. He opened his mouth but he didn’t know what he meant to say. What good were apologies? They were just empty words if he couldn’t be what Caractacus wanted, what he needed. 

“You guys need to get outta here,” the bartender was saying, ushering Nevada and Caractacus toward the door. Nevada realized that the bouncer was standing in front of the four men—two of them bloody but all of them on their feet—and it took him a few more seconds to understand that no one was calling the cops on him. 

“We’re sorry,” Caractacus said, pulling at Nevada’s arm. “We’re leaving, I’m terribly sorry for the trouble.” Maybe it was the adrenaline, but the liquor seemed to have finally hit him. His accent was thicker than usual, his words running together. 

Nevada didn’t speak. When they got to the door, he shoved it open and put his hand on Caractacus’s back to usher him outside, but he dropped his arms as soon as they were on the sidewalk. 

“If you wanted to prove a point, guess you did that,” he said. There was a hint of accusation in his voice, but he wasn’t angry with Caractacus. 

“Huh?”

“Violence, like you said.” He looked toward the bar, swallowing against the sting of bile in his throat. He scrubbed his knuckles against his jeans, but the blood was already dried into his skin. 

“But...I was the one who—”

“People don’t change. Stupid to think just ‘cause I want something—”

“ _Wait wait wait_ ,” Caractacus said, grabbing the front of Nevada’s shirt. They stumbled and Nevada clutched at Caractacus’s waist to steady them both. Caractacus peered at him through squinted eyes, one of them already swelling. “Dyoothink…” He stopped, seeming to realize how badly slurred the words were, and tried again. “Do you think I want to change you?”

“ _Tu quieres_.”

“No, no, no,” Caractacus said, shaking his head so that his hair flopped against his forehead. He held onto Nevada’s shirt. “Not you, ‘vada, I don’t want your balls in a jar, I only want—”

“You’re being dramatic again. Not like I didn’t know I had to change to be with you. I tried.”

“That’s not it.”

“Let’s walk from this place,” Nevada said, glancing toward the bar and taking Caractacus’s elbow to lead him away.

Caractacus allowed himself to be turned, but he peered at Nevada’s face. “Are you scared?”

“Trying to protect you, _idiota_. Always more guys like that.”

“Maybe I can protect _you._ ”

Nevada laughed sadly, looking sideways at Caractacus while he urged him along the sidewalk. “I’m a bad influence. Can’t believe you hit that guy.”

“I can be more...more…” Caractacus waved a hand in the air as he walked, screwing up his face as he tried to think of the right word. “Just more,” he finally said. 

“The fuck you talking about?” Nevada asked, glancing over his shoulder and steering Caractacus across the street. 

“You know,” Caractacus said. “More not boring. More...good for you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” Caractacus countered.

“ _Sí_ , but I’m better at it.”

“Does it always hurt this bad?”

“Sorry, _Chiflado._ Good luck explaining to your kids why you got a black eye, too.”

“I was defending you.”

“They were defending each other.”

“Where’re we _gooinnng?_ ” Caractacus whined as Nevada led him into a playground.

“Home. Shortcut.”

“I’m _tired_. And cold. And _hungry_.”

“You’re the one said no dinner,” Nevada reminded him, but he slowed when Caractacus tugged his arm.

“Are we still fighting?” 

Nevada turned to face him and Caractacus drew up short, stumbling. “Take off the stupid jacket.”

“Why?” Caractacus asked as he obeyed, awkwardly struggling out of the plaid blazer. Nevada snatched it as soon as Caractacus had managed to get it off, and he shoved it unceremoniously between his thighs while he stripped off his leather jacket. 

Nevada swung his coat around Caractacus’s shoulders. “Arms in,” he ordered.

“It’s so _warmmm_ ,” Caractacus sighed as he fumbled his arms into the sleeves. He immediately hugged the coat around himself. “And it smells like you.”

“Come on, let’s get home before you pass out.”

“You gonna wear mine?” 

“No.” Nevada threw the blazer over his arm and took Caractacus’s elbow, leading him further into the park. 

“You would be _so cute_.”

“No,” Nevada repeated. “Nobody looks cute in this crap but you.”

“I like wearing your jacket.”

“Good.”

“Know why?”

“It’s warm and not ugly.”

“Because it’s yours and I love you.”

Nevada stopped so quickly that Caractacus bumped into him. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

Nevada turned to face him in the moonlight. “I didn’t mean it, you know.” He didn’t specify; he’d said so many hurtful things.

Caractacus laughed and leaned into Nevada. “I know that, silly,” he said, bopping Nevada on the nose with a fingertip. “But you hurt my feelings.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again. It was mean.”

“I know,” Nevada repeated. He paused, regarding Caractacus. “I wouldn’t say it again. Ever.”

“Good.” He pressed a quick and sloppy kiss against Nevada’s mouth. “I’m sorry”

Nevada was confused by Caractacus’s shift of mood, but he didn’t dare let hope take root. Caractacus was drunk, apparently too drunk to hold onto his anger. “The fuck for?”

“Making you think I wanna change you.”

“You gotta protect your kids, I get it.”

“You.”

“What?”

“I want to protect _you_. I don’t want you to get hurt or end up in jail. Or have to leave this place?”

Nevada stared at him, at a loss for words. “I can take care of myself,” he finally muttered.

“I won’t nag so much. I’ll try to be not so annoying.”

“That’s stupid,” Nevada said. “I like you. Even when you annoy me.”

Caractacus grinned at him in the moonlight.

“Caractacus...” Nevada sniffed and looked around. He’d almost forgotten that they should still be alert, that the men from the bar could be trying to track them. “I wanted to keep hitting that guy til nothin was left.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I’m not safe for you or your kids.”

“If I didn’t trust you with—”

“You shouldn’t trust me. I don’t trust me.”

“Marcus tried to kill you and you still couldn’t hurt him.”

Nevada winced at the mention of his nephew. “He was family.”

“Yeah,” Caractacus said, giving Nevada a pointed look that was only partially undermined by his intoxication. 

“Robbie,” Nevada said, but he couldn’t finish the thought. The boy’s name was enough.

“You have to live with what you did, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I already hurt your kid. Jeremy.”

“Accidents are accidents,” Caractus said, too inebriated for anything more profound. 

Nevada reached up and fingered the collar of Caractacus’s shirt inside the leather coat. “ _Yo jodí a mi familia._ ” He spoke softly, the words almost lost in the darkness. 

“Some people get dealt an extra shitty hand in life,” Caractacus said. “But sometimes, maybe you get a second chance.” 

“Losing your wife—” 

“I’m not talking about me,” Caractacus cut in, and maybe it was the fresh air, or the adrenaline wearing off, or maybe he was simply much better at holding his liquor than Nevada had suspected, but he sounded soberer. “I know how lucky I am, despite the pain. I grieve more for what my children lost than myself because I had more years of happiness than many people ever get. But children shouldn’t have to grow up without their mother, and with a bumbling fool of a father who never knows if he’s doing the right thing. Is sure, in fact, of usually doing the _wrong_ thing. 

“But lucky as I am, I’ll gladly accept the universe offering me a second chance at love and happiness. And I’ll do anything to protect my children. You think I’m naive, maybe, or worse. For seeing the good in you. But I think you deserve a second chance.”

“Even drunk you talk a lot,” Nevada muttered. 

“Yeah,” Caractacus agreed. Nevada was relieved that he didn’t apologize for it.

Nevada glanced away, gathering his courage, before sliding his moonlit gaze back to the other man’s. “What’s that thing called, when you’re so afraid of something happening that you make it happen?”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy?” 

“Even drunk you’re smart,” Nevada said, and Caractacus’s lips curved into a small smile. Nevada sighed and, after a moment’s hesitation, opened the plaid blazer and swung it around himself, slipping his arms into the sleeves. In the darkness he saw Caractacus’s expression light up.

Nevada stepped closer and lifted his arms, settling them onto Caractacus’s shoulders with his hands behind the inventor’s head. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Caractacus’s, because it was easier to say what needed to be said without Caractacus’s watchful eyes on him. 

“I lose everyone I ever care about,” Nevada breathed, the words barely audible over the soft sough of wind. “Always, my whole life. I started early to keep people from getting too close. And I made people not like me, it was easier that way. Only a few ever loved me anyway, and now they’re gone, too.” He paused, twirling his fingers into Caractacus’s hair. “I give you reason after reason to leave me, _Chiflado,_ but I don’t want to lose you. Not because I don’t have somewhere else to go but because I never felt in my whole goddamn life like I do with you, like there’s hope, like I could be good. I love you, that’s the fuck of it all, y’know?”

After a few seconds of silence broken only by the wind, and the distant bark of a dog, Caractacus said, “You talk a lot when _you’re_ drunk, I guess.” Nevada snorted and lifted his head to meet the other man’s eyes. “My children and I can never replace your family any more than you can replace their mother. But we can have something new, something that’s ours.”

“ _Eso es todo lo que quiero_.”

Caractacus kissed him, leaning into Nevada’s heat. Nevada let Caractacus have control of the kiss, let him lick and nibble at Nevada’s lips, let him suck at his tongue, but he grunted softly when Caractacus pushed his hips forward to rub against him. 

“Here I’m being sappy and you get horny,” Nevada muttered. “Think we switched brains with these jackets.”

“You being sappy makes me horny,” Caractacus said, surprising Nevada into a quiet laugh. “And I don’t care who knows, either. We can go back and neck in that bar if you want.”

“You getting one black eye is enough for the night.”

“Here, then,” Caractacus said, nuzzling under Nevada’s stubbled jaw to kiss his neck. He rubbed against Nevada again, making sure the growing bulge in the front of his plaid trousers was unmissable. 

“Damn,” Nevada breathed. He reached around to squeeze Caractacus’s ass. “Get you drunk more often.”

Caractacus fumbled between them, finding Nevada’s fly and making quick work of popping open his button. “I have lube,” he said, sounding breathless, and he lifted his head to drag a hasty kiss over Nevada’s lips.

“What?” Nevada asked, pushing Caractacus’s hands aside. Caractacus’s eagerness was already having an effect on Nevada’s body, but his brain was still processing how many times the mood had changed throughout the evening. He knew it was ridiculous to think that _he_ might be the more responsible of the two, but Nevada didn’t want Caractacus to do something he would regret when he sobered up in the morning. 

“Just a packet, but we shouldn’t need more. We’ve done it with less,” Caractacus said, kissing over Nevada’s cheek and jaw and back over to his lips. 

“You always carry that?” Nevada asked, wondering when it had started.

Caractacus made another attempt at Nevada’s zipper, and Nevada pushed his hands away. “No, but honestly I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance we’d end up fucking in the bathroom of the pub.”

Nevada snorted, drawing back a little to look at the other man’s face in the moonlight. “Now I hate those guys even more.”

Caractacus laughed, a beautiful and happy sound. “We’re all alone now.”

Nevada stepped forward, closing the small distance he’d created between them, and ran his hand over the front of Caractacus’s trousers. Caractacus pushed his hips forward, pushed his straining fly into Nevada’s palm, and Nevada fondled him for a few seconds. He wanted to be responsible, but Caractacus was practically _begging_ to be fucked— 

“How drunk do you feel?”

Caractacus unfastened his own pants and grabbed Nevada’s hand, shoving it down into his gaping fly. “How drunk _do_ I feel?” he countered.

Nevada groaned low in his throat. “ _Jesucristo_ ,” he muttered. “ _Chiflado,_ much as I’d love to fuck you right here in this playground, I think…” He trailed off, stroking Caractacus inside the tight confines of his briefs. “Mm.” He leaned forward and let his breath puff against the side of Caractacus’s neck. “I’m trying to be a better person.”

“Be better tomorrow, fuck me tonight,” Caractacus said, and Nevada laughed against his neck. He didn’t stop Caractacus from finally getting his hand into Nevada’s jeans. 

“Okay.”

“Is this a _playground_?” Caractacus asked suddenly, turning his face to peer at the metal swingset glinting in the moonlight.

Nevada grunted in assent, but his hand was still down the front of Caractacus’s trousers and moving with a distinct lack of concern. He sucked roughly at Caractacus’s neck, just inside his collar, and Caractacus gasped in surprise at the burst of pleasure-pain. 

“We can’t... _here_ ,” Caractacus objected even as his hips rocked forward into Nevada’s rough touch. 

“Can’t what,” Nevada taunted, nipping at the mark he knew he’d made on the other man’s skin. He was hard—they both were, now—but he was also prepared to stop. He didn’t want to, not now that Caractacus had gotten him wound up, but he _expected_ to be stopped. 

“Not here, Nevada,” Caractacus said, pulling his hand from Nevada’s jeans and pushing gently at his chest. 

Nevada sighed and stepped back, relinquishing his hold on Caractacus’s warm cock with real regret. “Home, then,” he said, reaching down to zip himself up over his own erection, but Caractacus stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“The woods,” he said, nodding toward the trees at the edge of the playground. Nevada looked over, surprised. The small stand of trees could hardly be called _woods_ , although it was the closest thing to a forest Nevada himself had ever seen in person outside of Central Park. “Come on,” Caractacus said, grabbing Nevada’s hand and pulling him along toward the dark wooded area. 

By the time they moved out of the moonlight into the darker shadow of the trees, Nevada was sure he must be drunker than he’d realized. Caractacus had somehow already gotten the packet of lube out of his wallet, and he put it between his teeth long enough to shove Nevada’s jeans down to his thighs. Then he ripped the packet open, but he hesitated when he realized Nevada was just standing there.

“Are you alright?” Caractacus asked. 

Nevada swayed forward, suddenly needing to feel the other man’s lips on his, and Caractacus met his kiss without reservation. Nevada sighed into Caractacus’s mouth, cupping his hands to the inventor’s jaw. “This coat smells like you,” he murmured.

“Want to swap back?”

“No.” Nevada nipped Caractacus’s lower lip. “I like the smell of you.” He flicked his tongue into Caracactus’s mouth. “So? Thought you wanted me to fuck you or something.”

Caractacus needed no further nudging, and he found Nevada’s cock easily enough in the near-blinding darkness. In a matter of moments he was slathering lube on Nevada’s erection, prepping him quickly with practiced strokes. 

Nevada grabbed Caractacus’s waistband and yanked his trousers down to mid-thigh before pushing Caractacus against a tree. He grabbed the inventor’s legs and lifted and Caractacus clutched at Nevada’s shoulders with a small yelp. He tried to wrap his legs around Nevada’s hips but his trousers were stretched tight across his thighs; there was a loud rending sound as part of a seam split open, but Caractacus didn’t care. 

Nevada had gotten the packet from Caractacus’s hand and was already fingering his hole. Caractacus, immobilized between Nevada’s body and the trunk of the tree, made a sound of impatience and tried to squirm, tugging at Nevada’s hair to hurry him. 

The bark was rough behind his back, dragging at the leather as he tried to move, and Caractacus was suddenly afraid he was going to ruin Nevada’s coat. He shifted his shoulders and felt himself slip an inch or two. Nevada adjusted, hooking his arms under Caractacus’s legs to lever him higher and better support him, and Caractacus felt the cool evening breeze caress his bare ass. 

“The bark,” he said, trying again to shift his shoulders. 

Nevada paused. His cock was hot against Caractacus’s cool skin. “Hurts?” 

“Not me, the coat,” Caractacus said. “I don’t want to rip your leather—”

“Fuck the coat,” Nevada answered, reaching down to fumble himself into place. “You good?”

“Yes,” Caractacus said, bending his head forward to find Nevada’s lips in a frantic kiss.

Nevada worked the head of his cock past Caractacus’s tight rim and stopped for a moment, letting Caractacus wiggle and squirm in an attempt to pull him deeper. Nevada flexed his hips upward, filling the other man slowly, stretching him. 

Caractacus broke away from Nevada’s mouth and let his head fall back against the tree, moaning with the wind as Nevada pushed up, up into him, unhurried but unhesitant. Nevada didn’t stop until he was as deep as the angle would allow. Then he stilled, holding Caractacus’s legs and keeping him pinned against the tree, and waited until Caractacus curled forward to kiss him again. 

“Hold onto me,” Nevada murmured, and Caractacus did, clutching at his own plaid jacket on the other man’s shoulders. 

Nevada withdrew almost completely, sinking down onto his heels, before slowly pushing up and into Caractacus. He paused, withdrew partway, and paused again. Caractacus was flexing around him, urging him on, testing his control.

Nevada drove into him with a little more force, swallowing Caractacus’s soft cry. Once more and then Nevada let himself go, let himself be consumed by the feeling of Caractacus clenching around him and the wind tickling their bare skin with chilled fingers and the way Caractacus’s scent had Nevada completely surrounded. He fucked Caractacus hard, and he kissed frantically at Caractacus’s mouth when the inventor came with a hoarse moan.

Nevada came seconds later, leaning into Caractacus to make sure he didn’t drop him while his muscles trembled and bucked. Then he buried his face in Caractacus’s neck, breathing raggedly for a few moments before carefully withdrawing and helping Caractacus lower his feet to the ground. He tugged Caractacus’s trousers up and fastened them before reaching around to finger lightly at the split seam along his ass, snorting. He’d better hope the babysitter was very unobservant.

“Now you gotta walk home feeling me leak outta you,” Nevada said, pushing himself back into his jeans and zipping. 

“Good thing this is a shortcut,” Caractacus said, and they grinned at each other in the darkness before Nevada leaned in for a kiss.


End file.
